An Unlikely Outcome
by DanielTheWaterTankAndTheFoetus
Summary: Dumbledore used to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, but that has changed with the appearance of an even greater foe . . . or friend?


_**An Unlikely Outcome**_

_By Janine (see profile)_

Once upon a time, there was a man who died. Being a man of remarkable wit, however, he was able to live on within a story he created, and in that way witnessed the conclusion of the most famous tale he had written in his lifetime, a tale which had been unfinished at the time of his death. After putting the characters in the tale through treacherous trials and deep despair, he departed from the world of the story and travelled far and wide to seek another, even greater story with which to meddle.

And so Drosselmeyer, after years of fruitless searching, happened to stumble upon an intriguing tale of a boy called Harry Potter. It was unlike anything he had ever heard, and that alone was enough to satisfy his hunger for good literature. Being the eccentric, experimental man he was, he wrote himself into the story.

Subsequently, he found himself in the middle of a square. It was night time, and rain had recently fallen, for the air smelled of it and the ground was wet. Lanterns in the shape of pumpkins hung from eaves, black bats made of paper were glued onto windows, and streetlamps shone on the wet concrete ground, making it shimmer like a sheet of silver. No one seemed to notice that a man with long white hair, wearing a multicoloured feathery hat and a red-and-green cape and holding a notepad and quill in his hands, had suddenly materialised in the square – a fact that surprised Drosselmeyer, but in actual fact wasn't all that surprising, for bustling about the place were throngs upon throngs of people dressed in all sorts of outrageous costumes, some of them even more outrageous than his own.

"Nice costume, Mister!" cried a boy dressed as a pumpkin to a tall, thin man attired in a black robe. Drosselmeyer's mild interest in watching the man instantly turned to burning curiosity when he saw the boy's smile falter.

He made his way towards the man, who had begun to move – or rather, drift (for his robe swirled about his feet as though it were made of mist) – slowly away. Drosselmeyer caught up to him and blocked his way.

The man raised his head, and Drosselmeyer saw a white face, red eyes and a non-existent nose with slit-like nostrils. "How fascinating!" he murmured to himself. To the stranger, who was calmly regarding him with those attractive eyes, he said politely, "Good evening, sir. Are you enjoying the festivities?"

The man tilted his head to one side, feigning innocence. "Well, well," he said in a high, cold voice. "What have we here? A Muggle pretending to be a wizard? How pathetic. What do you say? Shall I simply . . . dispose of you?"

Drosselmeyer was simply delighted. What a unique character this man was! How Drosselmeyer wished he could have given his prized antagonist, the Raven, some of this man's lovely qualities! "But good sir," he said, "how in the world have I wronged you? What could I possibly have done to deserve such a fate?"

"No one meddles with Lord Voldemort," said the man. He reached inside his robes and produced a long, thin stick of wood, fingering it almost lovingly. Having read snippets of the Harry Potter series, Drosselmeyer recognised that it was a wand. The man had no sooner raised this dangerous magical weapon and pointed it at him, than Drosselmeyer whipped out his notepad and quill, dipped the quill in ink (the ink was contained in his waterproof coat pocket) and began scribbling furiously.

"Avada Kedavra!" cried Voldemort.

_At that moment a bird flew between them and took the jet of green light full in the breast_, wrote Drosselmeyer.

Voldemort's snake-like lips parted in shock as he watched the bird drop to the ground like a bullet. No doubt nothing of the like had ever happened to him. Drosselmeyer, on the other hand, was highly amused.

"Ah, you mentioned your name was Lord Voldemort?" he said conversationally. "Then it seems logical that you are, in fact, the primary antagonist in the Harry Potter series. Your name is really Tom Riddle, is it not?"

Voldermort's eyes widened. "Avada –"

_Before he could finish the incantation, a girl crept up behind him and zapped him hard. _

Voldemort screamed and turned on the girl, wand raised.

_And then a bunch of children crowded around him and began to tickle him, their nimble fingers moving from his belly to his armpits to his neck._

And the people celebrating Halloween in Godric's Hollow, whether Muggle or wizard, witnessed an event never before seen in the whole district, let alone in the middle of the town square. Lord Voldemort, the Dark wizard feared to such an extent that no one save a select few dared utter his name (or, to the Muggles, a strange man taking Halloween far too seriously), was squirming and laughing – yes, laughing, though the sound was shrill and eerie and resembled a dolphin's cries while being strangled – while children invaded his privacy, giggling at the effects of their violation. Voldemort's wand lay forgotten on the ground.

Meanwhile, Drosselmeyer was so excited he could hardly breathe. "Ingenious!" he exclaimed under his breath, over and over again, as he watched the assault reach its climax. "Absolutely ingenious! Who knew . . . who could have guessed . . . creating a villain who possesses such malice and callousness . . . and yet . . . ! I do believe I have discovered his weakness! Who could have guessed? A villain disarmed by such a simple means! Tickling – tickling!" And he threw back his head and cackled so loudly that two elderly women cast terrified glances at him and tottered away as quickly as their feet would let them.

When Drosselmeyer had recovered from his euphoria, he picked up his quill once again and wrote: _The children eventually grew bored of this activity and left, Disapparating into thin air because they were wizard prodigies and had been taught to do so at a very early age. _

Voldemort was left sprawled on the cold, wet concrete, heaving and panting. He didn't even react when Drosselmeyer bent down with a flourish and picked up his wand.

"Well, well," said Drosselmeyer, looking down reproachfully at the black shape convulsing on the ground. "Well, well, well, well."

"Who are you?" Voldemort managed to hiss after a while, fear manifest in his wide red eyes.

"Drosselmeyer, a renowned writer and storyteller from nineteenth-century Germany," was the reply. "I am fluent in over twenty languages, which accounts for the ease with which I am able to converse with you. It also happens that I died long ago. It is a great pleasure to meet you, good sir." He extended his hand, but Voldemort did not take it. Instead, he stood up, and, having regained his usual composure, said silkily:

"You may be useful to me."

Drosselmeyer's large amber eyes shone with elation. "I am deeply honoured, sir."

"Now tell me," continued Voldemort, "are you ambitious?"

"Very, sir."

"Do you value your life over those of others?"

"I cannot answer that, sir. I have no life."

"Then, would you sacrifice others for your sake?"

"Certainly. I delight in watching others suffer."

"Lovely. And finally, have you any interest in the Dark Arts?"

"Anything that has the potential to contribute an element of evil to my stories, sir."

The corners of Voldemort's lipless mouth curled upwards in a malicious smile. "In that case, would you be willing to serve me, to pledge your loyalty, to devote your entire entity to the Dark Arts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I will see to your Death Eater inauguration ceremony. At present, I shall disclose to you my mission tonight. For reasons you need not know, I must kill a future wizard by the name of Harry Potter, and perhaps his father along the way. You shall accompany me, and help me should trouble arise."

"Yes, sir." Drosselmeyer would have been crying tears of happiness by now, had he not refrained from doing so.

"My wand, Drosselmeyer."

Drosselmeyer handed it to him. "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you."

So the wizard and the storyteller left the square and turned a corner into a dark, narrow street, preparing to commit murder.

And then they kissed.


End file.
